Papercut
by LostOneLawliet
Summary: "Grell Sutcliff, I fear you will be the death of me." "Oh, darling, I can only hope so."
1. Chapter 1

"Grell Sutcliff, I fear you will be the death of me."  
A Cheshire grin spans the Shinigami's face as two rows of pointed teeth make themselves known to his superior.  
"Oh, darling, I can only hope so."  
William's lips twitch a bit at the corner, almost a smirk, almost a picture of his past self, a new recruit. He puts it out quickly as if stomping out fire with the heel of his boot, but Grell catches the minor implication and that dangerous grin grows wider.  
"Even so," Will continues, his yellow-green eyes meeting that of Grell's as he gestures to the corpse between them, speaking over its head as if it were nothing more than a fell branch in the neighbor's yard. "Consequences follow your actions. I will be repossessing your death scythe-"  
Grell gasps as if it is the end of the world, and his gloved hands clutch at his chest dramatically. "Oh, my dear William, you can't possibly! I've only just gotten it back-"  
"And you will also be aiding me in giving a tour to the newest batch of recruits, once more," Will goes on. The red-haired Shinigami clings to his arm, proving his acting as tears well up in his eyes behind his signature red-framed glasses. He manages to make that gaudy mascara run and sniffles a bit, reminding William more of a sniveling child than a lover in disdain... or whatever Sutcliff was trying to pull.  
"I do not pity you, Grell Sutcliff," he says, more as a warning than a threat as he adjusts his glasses with his death scythe. "If you'll excuse me, I have to tend to my _overtime_." He drags out the word pointedly, reminding Grell of his hate of the word. Grell gives a pout as his acting is to naught and wipes at his eyes glumly, further smearing the makeup across his face. Will has to admit that he looks pathetic, if just in one way.  
"Will," he says, a bit quietly, and he looks up at the reaper with a meaningful look for a moment. William says nothing and simply meets the Shinigami's stare with an icy one, standing his ground. William T. Spears does not give in to the common Shinigami. The same goes for Grell. Expecting more begging, he's caught off-guard as Grell launches himself at him once more. "Oh, William, you are so very alluring when you speak to me so coldly!~ Say more, say more!~ Paint me red with sorrow!~"  
Will's death scythe makes a painful-sounding acquaintance with the side of Grell's head and the red reaper achieves a medal-worthy faceplant. The scythe then serves to adjust Will's glasses once more as he turns to his work, ignoring the crumpled heap of Grell collapsed nearby. "I will see you tomorrow for the tour."  
"Oh, anything for you, my love!~" Grell ensures him from the ground, sparkly-eyed even with his busted bottom lip.  
"And Grell?"  
"Yes, William-dear?~" Will lowers his eyes to Grell's and speaks firmly.  
"Do _not_be late."


	2. Chapter 2

Grell wakes with a splitting headache, pouting as he copes with his injury from the brunt of William's death scythe. The red reaper cracks his jaw, sharp teeth chomping together to alleviate the pain. A gaze in the mirror relieves him; there seems to be no swelling and his look is not in danger.

"Oh, that dear William should truly learn not to hit a lady," he singsongs to his reflection as he dutifully applies his makeup. "No, no, not like a gentleman at all- but we forgive him for it, don't we? Because we like those cold and cruel sides of William; that boy warms my cockles, he does!~" Grell dresses, picking, as usual, his- or, Madam Red's, rather- favorite coat as the piece de resistance and shrugging it, fashionably, around his shoulders. He laments the loss of his beloved death scythe and gives a cold glare at his replacement: a familiar, cruddy pair of red scissors hardly suited for slashing up a cinematic record.

He _had _insisted upon something red, Will had reminded him, and so he pockets them with a huff.

"Useless!" he declares, to no one in particular, and, after lacing his boots and flipping his hair, he dons his signature strut from the room.

The clock ticks. A Mr. William T. Spears paces, angry and embarrassed, before a cluster of new recruits. Two of them are occupying themselves with their new black handbooks, and the third simply stares about blankly. Will pulls up his sleeve for the ninth time to check his watch and the creases in the fabric increase.

The red reaper is forty minutes and twenty-two seconds late.

_And he will be doing forty minutes and twenty-two seconds of overtime, _, Will thinks. At this precise moment, the door bursts noisily and curses the room with the walking Christmas decoration. "Oh, William, did you miss me?~" Grell gushes, bunching his fists to his heart with school girl flair.

"You are late," Will says flatly, and his tone indicates that he is not amused.

"Oh, Will, darling, I'm sorry, but after you kept me up so long last night, I just couldn't bear to tear myself from the sheets! Ooh, I can still smell that wonderful cologne of yours~!" he clings to Will's arm and takes a deep whiff of him, swooning. Because Will is, rarely, not carrying his death scythe, he doesn't care to summon it and simply pushes Grell away, palm over his face. "While Shinigami require sleep, they can also stand to have an alarm set."

The new recruits are speechless in the corner and Will turns his attention upon them. "This is your senior, agent Grell Sutcliff. As I've said a painful number of times before in awaiting his arrival, I am William T. Spears, branch manager of London. Introduce yourselves respectfully; you will be graded on performance in appearance." Grell is now filing his nails, as per usual, and the first recruit tears his eyes away to answer. He stutters, a bit embarrassed. He's a young-looking boy, cheeks still rich with baby fat as he stands not to Will's shoulder. His hair is messy, a curly brown mop, and his glasses slip and slide on his nose even when he pushes them up again with his finger. He looks, frankly, like a child's toy, a stuffed bear. After a moment of incoherent stutter, Will sighs.

"Sometime in the next twenty-four hours will suffice."

"S-sorry, sir," the boy chokes out. "M'name is Lawrence, sir. Lawrence Teach." Will looks expectantly to the next recruit, a tall, gangly blonde with shaggy hair and narrow eyes. He grins and adjusts his glasses. "Oh, I'm John, sir. John Knox."

William hums at that and scribbles on his clipboard. "You look like your brother. I sincerely hope that this is where your similarities end, Mr. Knox." his eyes move to the last behind his glasses and he takes a moment's pause before speaking. "It is rare... to have a female recruit here at the London Branch to go into Collections. However, your records indicate your achievement. I already know your name, but please introduce yourself to Mr. Sutcliff."

Grell's eyes lift lazily at the mention of his name and his eyes widen.

"Hana Hays, Mr. Sutcliff." She is short, about even with Lawrence, her glasses resting peacefully on the bridge of her nose. She dresses much like the men, with the exception of her skirt and stockings. Suddenly, Grell is on her, gathering up her long hair and cuddling it to his cheek. "Oh, she is so CUTE!~" he exclaims, admiring the ruby red locks and twirling them with fervor on his fingers. "What beautiful red! It could be brighter, of course, much brighter, but oh, it reminds me of the color of blood!~"

"Grell Sutcliff, please refrain from terrorizing the recruits," Will drones monotonously.

Lawrence, fearful of the red reaper, backs up and away, shaking. John, like his brother, seems to admire the Shinigami's spunk as he stands against the wall, arms crossed and smirking a bit. The girl, Hana, currently having her hair upset by Grell's black-clad fingers, gives a tiny smile, unsure of what to say.

"Ohhhh, I could just eat you up!~" Grell went on. "How marvelous you would look clad in red and dripping with blood~ mm~"

Will stares blankly through his glasses, unsure if this extra work was adequate punishment for the red reaper.

"This will conclude your tour," William, after an hour of touring with the new recruits, turns, straight-backed, to the small group, Grell heading up the rear. It has been a long and agonizing tour, what with Grell on his heels chatting about their "first time" taking the Final Exam and the recruits themselves piping up from time to time. (While John seemed to lament the wearing of the standard field glasses for new recruits, Pops' angled glare drove anxiety-ridden Lawrence to upset a whole distribution box of the things, creating a small uproar as they became a box of broken lens and snapped frames.) Even Hana, quiet as she could be, proved a bit of trouble with her constant questions. Dutifully, her hand is the first to rise when he bids for questions at the end of the tour, and, tersely, he calls on her.

"Mr. Spears," she starts, softly as she looks up to him, "Now that we've toured the facility, how will we go about the training up until our final exam?"

Will, rarely, adjusts his glasses with his hand, and begins to answer when he hears a certain redheaded reaper at the back of the group, snickering, along with young John. The district manager's eyes narrow and he suggests, coldly, "Surely Grell Sutcliff wouldn't mind explaining that to you, considering that he has the free time to giggle like a fool." Grell gives a sharp pout.

"Oh, Will, it's terrible rude to refer to a lady as a fool," he swoons pathetically, the back of his hand to his forehead in the classic fainting pose. Even so, he darts to Will's side to answer Hana's question with a lifted finger. "Well, you see, William and I began our twisted, passionate love that day after our first tour!~ Whenever the teacher spoke, I could sense Will's eyes on me, undressing me in that cool and cold mind of his~"

Will rolls his eyes. "As Mr. Sutcliff mentioned somewhere in his babble, you will be given classroom instruction. Because you have been thoroughly prepped for courses before today and all three of you received perfect scores on the pretest, your instruction will take only one week before your final exam."

"Only one week, huh," John speculates, scratching the back of his head. "That's a piece of cake. Big bro had to take four weeks."

"You three are the Advanced Placement students," Will drawls lazily. "It will be one week in Hell for you, minus the pesky demons." Lawrence raises a shaking hand timidly and Will inclines his head for the boy to go on. "Will... will we ever have to come in contact with a demon?" he asks frightfully. Will's slim fingers push up his glasses with a quiet click. He sets his jaw as he remembers Sebastian Michaelis, that damned demon lurking about in Phantomhive Manor.  
"It has been known to happen, regrettably, but hopefully, you'll find yourself in good graces."

The prospect of there even being a possibility this could hapen makes Lawrence swallow, hard.


End file.
